Chemistry and Crime
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: If Sherlock HADN'T deduced that Mary was pregnant, and the Watsons had gotten to tell him instead. [Set in SO3, 'missing scene'/rewrite.]


**Chemistry and Crime**

"Come over for dinner."

It was a simple enough request.

Sherlock didn't have a case and he barely had an experiment, so, in other terms, he was... bored. And being bored by himself was even more boring than being bored with John there, so, dinner it was.

Besides, he liked John and Mary's cooking both enough to take up an offer for dinner when he could. It was almost like having a family again. It was... surprisingly nice. He would studiously disagree to that statement if anyone ever called him out on it.

"What's the occasion, then?" he asked absently, glancing over his shoulder to see what Mary was doing. "You usually don't call me over for dinner." His fingers crawled towards the wooden spoon to taste the spaghetti sauce that was simmering on the stovetop.

"Stop it," John ordered.

Sherlock instead braced his hand on the countertop as John strode in. "Stop what?" he asked innocently.

"Don't put your lips on the spoon." John picked up the spoon to stir the sauce.

Mary glanced around at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. "I wouldn't do such a thing."

"I know you would, you used to all the time."

Sherlock huffed a bit, his smile melting into something more genuine as Mary laughed to herself and John smiled in response. Yes, this was definitely like family. A family that Sherlock didn't mind to spend time around, for one, which was always a plus.

He pushed away from the countertop, lifting the dishes out of Mary's hands. "Here. Let me."

"Oh, thanks, Sherlock," Mary said cheerfully, gripping his arm briefly.

"You never set the table for us," John muttered.

"Hmm." Sherlock chose to ignore the comment, carrying the plates into the dining room. Chivalry wasn't dead, that was all. He had manners, when he wanted them. Or needed them. Or if he was occasionally desiring to be a little more normal.

Whatever. He liked Mary. And her cooking.

Her spaghetti was lovely, just as Sherlock had expected it to be. He reached for the glass of water and took a small sip. "Alright," he said, looking across the table at John. "I know there's an occasion. Are you moving?" He narrowed his eyes. "Going on another honeymoon? Getting a divorce?"

John almost choked on his drink. "What makes you think that?" he sputtered, coughing.

"And how did you make that leap?" Mary continued. "From honeymoon to divorce? Really?"

Sherlock cast his gaze around the room. "Like I said, you hardly ever call me over for dinner without an occasion."

"That's not true," John protested. "I tell you to come over all the time."

"You tell me that I can come over whenever I want," Sherlock replied, waving a hand dismissively. "You only rarely say _come over tonight_, and that's only if there's something you want to talk about. So, you've got some sort of news. Clearly, it's big if you've broken out the good wine." His eyes flickered towards the wine in John's glass.

"We don't have _bad_ wine," John muttered, putting his glass down.

"Well-"

"You don't drink, you don't know," John interrupted.

"We're pregnant."

Sherlock froze with his glass halfway to his lips.

"_Mary_!" John spun to face, eyes wide.

She shrugged. "I'm sorry, you weren't telling him, I just thought..."

"I was working up to it!"

"John, love, you're really bad at working up to it."

John huffed.

Sherlock's mind was racing ahead of him. They were pregnant? How had he not noticed? He thought back, counting days on a mental calendar, looking for symptoms that had had just passed off as normal everyday things: Mary had been sick one morning last week, John had seen Sherlock out shopping and joked about how Mary had wanted a certain thing to eat, even now, Mary wasn't drinking wine like John...

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked rapidly, focussing back in on John. He was staring at him expectantly, a little nervously, but also a little concerned. Sherlock drew in a deep breath, putting down his glass.

"Wow."

"Wow?" John repeated.

"I mean... a baby." Sherlock shook his head slightly. "Congratulations!" He was shaking himself out of the initial shock. Slowly. He pushed himself to his feet, going to hug Mary and then taking it further to surprise John with a hug. "_How_ didn't I notice?"

"Because you delete everyday, normal things," John said humorously, giving him an awkward one-armed hug back.

"Yes, but I should have noticed." Sherlock pulled away, smiling. "You'll make a great father," he remarked. Of that, at least, he had no doubt. Other things, like the dynamic of their 'family'... well, Sherlock wasn't so sure. But he wasn't going to go there, not now. He wouldn't open that can of worms when John and Mary were happy.

John smiled warmly up at him. "Thanks."

"And you," Sherlock continued, looking at Mary, "are going to be a wonderful mother as well. You're both going to be amazing parents."

"Don't think you're getting out of it so easily," John said.

Sherlock glanced back. "What?"

"We want you to be the godfather."

Sherlock froze up all over again, the words filtering slowly through his generally-non-sentimental mind palace barrier. Pregnant. Parents. Godfather? Things were moving so quickly. Sherlock needed time to adjust, except-

Well, there just wasn't time.

"If you want," John prompted.

Sherlock blew out a breath. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Sherlock frowned. "Did you expect me to say no?"

John laughed. "No. I don't know. Thanks."

Sherlock inhaled slowly. "Not a problem."

"Yeah, Sherlock, thanks." Mary was all smiles, too.

How could any sane couple want him to be godfather? Oh wait. They weren't sane. Of course not. They were friends with him, John was an adrenalin junkie and Mary was just as bad as both him and John.

"You're going to be the best godfather," Mary said.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "... Of course I am."

"And there's the same, old Sherlock," John said cheerfully, clapping him on the back. "Good to know things don't change_ that_ much."

Sherlock smiled thinly.

He was sure that things _would _change that much, but... maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe. Possible. It could be fun, right?

"Is it a boy or girl?"

John laughed. "We don't know, Sherlock, we just found out last week."

"Oh." Sherlock tilted his head, looking at Mary before heading back to his chair. "I hope it's a boy; I'll teach him chemistry and crime."

"Or if it's a girl," Mary reminded.

"Either," Sherlock agreed. "Whatever gender, chemistry and crime is a must."

"Great," John muttered. "Now my son or daughter's going to be like a mini Sherlock Holmes."

"Of course." Sherlock reached for his glass. "You asked me to be godfather, after all," he said, teasingly.

So, it was... a little bit frightening. Definitely. Things were going to change. Drastically. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe. Dare he say that he was even a tiny bit excited? Perhaps?

... Maybe.

He smiled and twirled his glass between his fingers.

* * *

><p><strong>And, because I write fic in honour of everything;<strong>

**OMG THERE'S A CUMBERBABY ON THE WAY! I COULDN'T WRITE SHERLOCK AS A FATHER BECAUSE I'VE DONE THAT BEFORE SO I REWROTE THE WATSON PREGNANCY A BIT. Congratulations to the Hunterbatch!**

**Of course Sherlock would always deduce it; nonetheless, it's fun to write this way, too, shocking the crap out of Sherlock. Just imagine him with a little five year old standing on a stepstool next to him as he teaches him/her not about how to mix chemicals to make a new compound, but how to mix finger paint to get new colours. Godfather!lock is awesome.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thanks for reading!**


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